A Heavy Lightness
by the-bronze-seeker
Summary: A scarred Katie Bell becomes a healer while struggling to piece herself back together. A mysterious client and his puzzling injuries plunge Katie into the midst of an sinister plot and emotional upheavals. M for language and possible content
1. Chapter One

The ingenious Ms. Rowling owns Harry Potter and its characters. I claim only the plot.

**_If I stumble  
>They're gonna eat me alive<br>Can you feel my heart beating like a hammer?  
>Beating like a hammer<br>Help, I'm alive_**

**_~Metric_**

* * *

><p>On a good day, no one even recognizes her.<p>

Those are the days she enjoys the most.

But sometimes it happens that she's not so lucky. She'll walk into a room and feel that vague aura of familiarity surrounding the patient. They'll stare at her intently for a few minutes, curiously trying to place her as she begins leading them through warm up stretches. Then the realization will come in a blinding flash:

"Hey, I know you!"

"Fantastic. Let's move on to ankle rotations, shall we? I want you to really try and keep the movement sm—"

"You're Katie Bell. That girl who got cursed in her seventh year."

Things generally tended to go downhill from here.

It seemed that she was forever going to be known as _that girl._ That girl who was weak enough to allow herself to be imperiused. That girl who was unlucky enough to allow herself to get cursed. That girl who was unfortunate enough to land herself in St. Mungo's for nearly six months.

_That girl._

The one who seemed perfectly fine when she returned to play Quidditch at the end of the year. The one who seemed fully recovered when she stepped into the Room of Requirement to join the Battle of Hogwarts. The one who seemed invincible as she dueled Death Eater after Death Eater. The one who seemed done for when a dark curse from Yaxley hit her arm.

_The arm._

The arm that had served her so well as a chaser. The arm that had withstood the dark magic of the opal necklace. The arm that had the healer in a panic when Alicia Spinnet had apparated with her unconscious form to St. Mungo's once again. The arm that had managed to survive but also condemn.

Yes, she was _that girl_ who had effectively ruined her life in a single moment of recklessness.

When the healers had first told her, she had only blinked. They carefully explained that while they had saved my arm, they could not undo the damage to the underlying tissue. While she could use it for everyday activities, she would not be able to build up the muscle that is required to play any sort of contact sport. Her sinews couldn't handle the stress of such exertion and would, regardless, remain frozen, incapable of being strengthened.

In short, she would never play Quidditch again.

They were concerned by her silence but figured that, in her devastation, she could use a moment to herself.

But she had seemed so eerily calm because she truthfully _was._ As the healers had been droning on, her mind had kicked into overdrive. She was a good chaser. A wonderful chaser, actually. In her studies she had been ordinarily average, albeit a bit lacking in Transfiguration. She had instead spent every minute of her free time on the Quidditch pitch, making shot after shot as she worked to improve herself. She had had scouts at nearly every game in her final season. In fact, the Holyhead Harpies had offered her a contract at the close of her seventh year. There was nothing she _could_ do besides play Quidditch. She therefore came to the only plausible conclusion:

This wasn't happening.

The healers _had_ to be mistaken because no other reality existed for her. Eventually, when she got out of this bed, she would prove them all wrong. She would leave and as soon as she walked out those doors, things would snap back into their normal places. It was just the war, she thought, with its oppressive atmosphere that had led to such a ridiculous prognosis.

Sometimes she still feels like she's waiting on a catharsis that will never come.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

She was a fantastic wallower.

Probably because she was always fascinated by the changes such introspection could bring. She liked to let the emotions swallow her whole until they finally spit her out on the other side of the abyss. Each time she came out a little bit different: happier, braver, sadder, angrier.

It reminds her of that book she read in Muggle Studies. Where the creatures went in one side of the machine and came out the other end with stars on their bellies. They kept going in and out and in and out until nobody could recognize their friends from their enemies. Until nobody could recognize themselves.

She knew exactly how they felt.

* * *

><p>AN: I know it's a bit dark at the moment, but I promise it gets lighter in the next chapters. I'm not sure on the length yet, but I have a few chapters I'll post soon. Any comments or constructive criticism is greatly appreciated!


	2. Chapter Two

The ingenious Ms. Rowling owns Harry Potter and its characters. I claim only the plot.

**_I will not bow, _****_I will not break  
>I will shut the world away<br>I will not fall, I will not fade  
>I will take your breath away<br>_****_And I'll survive_**

**_~Breaking Benjamin_**

* * *

><p>Unfortunately for Katie Bell, the fact that she needed to get a job in order to pay her medical bills snapped her rather forcefully out of her wallowing.<p>

So she became a healer.

She knew what people were thinking: how did _she _of all people become a healer?

It wasn't as difficult a decision as some might have assumed. With her natural aptitude for charms and her careful precision in potion-making, Katie Bell actually had exceptional qualifications for the position.

It didn't hurt that she felt a certain sense of karmic retribution that St. Mungo's would have to pay her so she could pay them.

But more than that, she didn't want others to undergo the nasty experience that she had endured. She didn't want them to feel the deep desolation as someone carelessly tossed aside her lifelong dreams in a short second. She didn't want them to feel like a case number as a healer dashed in and out of the room to perform only the most perfunctory spells before rushing back out. She didn't want them to feel the waves of derision rolling off the healer as she asked about the possible helpfulness of muggle physical therapy.

She wanted them to feel cared about, as if she were their long forgotten sister anxious to make up all the lost time. And patients loved her for it. They anticipated her arrival, excited to tell her everything from personal anecdotes to comments on the hospital 'food' to the latest sordid gossip about various healers.

Yes, Katie Bell was damned good at her job.

Which was why her life was about to take a sudden turn for the unexpected.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

"Damn it all to hell!"

Katie cringed as she watched Mediwizard Daniels dive to the floor. Letting out another string of profanities as he resurfaced, struggling with an object that was currently trying to wriggle out of his grasp. Reaching into the pocket of his robes, he quickly pulled out his wand.

"Immobulus!" he roared. The creature fell limply onto his desk.

Daniels rubbed a hand over his face.

"Bell, how the bloody hell did you manage to pass your Transfiguration N.E.W.T.?"

"I have no idea," she replied, though she strongly suspected that a certain head of Gryffindor house _ may _ have had something to do with influencing her examiner. Not that it had taken much convincing: as soon as the man had read her name, he'd seemed ready to pass her immediately. It had irritated her to no end that everyone had presumed she was 'in too delicate a condition' to be properly tested.

Clearly that was coming back to bite her in the arse.

"Bell," Daniels groaned, "this is elementary stuff."

"Hey, it wasn't _that_ bad," she countered.

Daniels quirked an eyebrow.

"Bell, you're supposed to be turning a garter snake into a splint—there aren't even any limbs you have to deal with! And still you give me…this?"

He pointed to the ruler shaped object on the desk.

Katie examined it.

"It doesn't look so bad to me."

"Bell," Daniels sighed, "it slithered off the desk and nearly out the door. _And _it won't stop hissing at me."

"Yeah but look at that lovely snakeskin patterning. That's gotta count for something, right?"

"Bell, you need to pass your reexamination so I can say that you're certified."

"But sir, _I don't even work in the field._ I can just summon one of those in here!"

"Bell, you have to take the re-certification once every five years. Period. If not, they might have to consider letting you go."

Katie began to panic, searching for an excuse. Just as Daniels opened his mouth to order her to try again, the door flew open.

A trainee healer stumbled through the entryway. He blinked for a moment before pulling a scroll of parchment from his pocket.

"Is one of you Katie Bell?"

"Yes? That's me."

"Right. You are to report to the Chief of Medicine's office immediately. You may not stop at your desk or check on a patient or run to the ladie's room or stop for a bit of tea on the way or pretend you got lost. "

The trainee looked at her incredulously, but Katie merely flushed and shrugged her shoulders. Rolling up the parchment, he fled from the room.

Katie exploded.

"Sir, you don't really think he'd fire me do you? I love this job! _I need this job_."

"It'll be fine, Bell," replied Daniels, but even he had a worried glint in his eye. "Best be getting on then."

Katie rushed out the door, opting to take the stairs to the ground floor. With each step, she grew angrier and angrier, consumed by a fury that sent electric sparks down her spine. Reaching the landing, she marched down the corridor.

Katie burst through the doors of the office.

"Chief Meriwether this entire matter is completely ridiculous."

Chief Meriwether's eyebrows rose in surprise.

"Why Healer Bell, I had no idea that you'd heard—"

"Too right I've heard! This is unbelievable! I am the best Mediwitch Spell Damage has seen in years!"

The chief's forehead creased in confusion.

"I know that Katie, but I think that it's high time I let you go—"

"Honestly! My patient satisfaction ratings are higher than the rest of my department's combined!"

"Ms. Bell, I am well aware, which is why—"

"Just because I can't turn a snake into a splint or a beetle into a bandage or what have you—I work on the fourth floor! When would I need to do that? Besides it's supposed to be _sanitary_ for Merlin's sake!

"Healer Bell!" Chief Meriwether thundered. "I'm quite aware of your excellence and dedication to your profession!"

"Oh," Katie said, deflating. "_Oh."_

"I called you here because I've just received a request for an in-home healing assignment. The client is very adamant about maintaining his privacy and, given the circumstances of his injury, we've granted his request. Due to his, shall we say, _eminence_, we've decided to send the best we've got…and that is, as you so loudly mentioned, you."

Katie felt herself blushing for the second time that day.

"In addition," Chief Meriwether continued," he has asked that his identity not be disclosed to you until you sign some binding paperwork. I can assure you Ms. Bell," he pressed on, as Katie opened her mouth to interrupt, "that he is perfectly harmless and will not threaten you in any way. Having already met the fellow myself, I'm sure you'll find you both have a lot in common."

Katie could hold back no longer.

"_Thank you_, Chief Meriwether," she said. "I'll be sure to conduct myself accordingly as a representative of the hospital and I can promise you that you couldn't have picked a better healer for the job."

The chief rose and replied, "You have my full confidence, Healer Bell. The patient will be expecting you tomorrow morning. You may floo directly from here to ensure that you aren't followed."

Beaming, she reached out to shake Chief Meriwether's hand before turning to the door. As her fingers closed around the doorknob, his voice rang out one last time.

"Oh, and Katie? If anyone should ask, it is _purely_ coincidental that I'm sending you on assignment on the deadline for you Therapeutic Transfiguration certification. We can give the board an absentee notice, but you _will_ have to take it eventually."

For the third time that day, Katie flushed a deep crimson.

"Yes, sir," she said.

Then she fled out the door to salvation.

* * *

><p>AN: I promise that Oliver will show up soon! I will try to update often, but it probably won't be on a regular schedule. Any comments or constructive criticism is appreciated!


	3. Chapter Three

The ingenious Ms. Rowling owns Harry Potter and its characters. I claim only the plot.

**_You get mistaken for strangers by your own friends  
>When you pass them at night<em>**

**_~The National_**

* * *

><p>Katie dragged her trunk onto the sidewalk.<p>

Leaning against it, she heaved for breath. Under normal circumstances she would have simply levitated the bloody bastard and had done with it. Unfortunately, she was currently surrounded by muggles whom she was sure would freak out at the sight of her floating baggage. Sighing, she pushed against her trunk until it came to rest against the plate glass window of Purge & Dowse Ltd.

She watched as the mannequin tilted its head minutely in her direction.

"Please state your name and reason for admittance," it asked in a quiet voice.

"Healer Katie Bell to meet the Chief of Medicine for a special assignment."

The mannequin tilted its head almost imperceptibly.

"Very well. Please enter quickly, then."

Gripping the handle of her trunk, Katie stepped through the glass. No sooner had she entered than Chief Meriwether appeared at her side.

"Right, then, Healer Bell. This way if you please."

She watch as he began to walk briskly down the hall. Casting a quick locomotor char on her trunk, she hurried after him. After winding their way past his office, they came to a stop by a closed door at the end of the hall. Pulling a key from his pocket, he hastily unlocked the door and usher Katie inside.

"This is my personal fireplace," he explained." It has a higher level of security for out more…_noteworthy_ clients. I trust you have everything you'll need for your stay?"

"Yes, sir. I've brought all my medical robes and reference texts—I even stopped by the apothecary just this morning to stock up on extra supplies."

"Wonderful," he said with a smile. "Well, it's time you got along, Ms. Bell. I'd just like to once again say that you have my full confidence behind you."

She returned his grin as she stepped into the fireplace. Taking a deep breath, she tossed her floo powder as she carefully enunciated her destination.

"Heath Manor!"

And with a lick of green flame, she was gone.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Unlike many, Katie loved travelling by floo. She could appreciate the dizzying disorientation as she whirled through space and time. You were never quite sure where you were and you just had to trust that you'd get where you need to go. Sometimes you didn't: You'd end up in the wrong fireplace wondering where you were and worrying how you'd find your way back and apologizing for your startling appearance in some unsuspecting person's house. Sometimes you fell flat on your face.

But even falling offers a new perspective.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Katie stumbled out of the fireplace, her trunk skidding to a stop beside her. Righting herself, she quickly took in her surroundings; her jaw dropped as she surveyed the room. The walls were made of interlocking stones, gleaming with the fading flames, that gave way to enormous windows before vaulting into a cathedral ceiling with broad-beamed rafters. A staircase on the led to a thin mezzanine that ran the length of the back wall. Beneath its overhang was a mismatched collection of chairs and large sofa. To her right she saw the darkened opening of another hallway.

"You must be the healer," said a voice to her right.

There stood a short, elderly man peering at her from a set of bespectacled, owlish eyes.

"I'm Mr. Callahan, your new charge's attorney. I assume Chief Meriwether told you a bit about our unusual situation."

She nodded.

"Excellent, excellent, my dear! Right this way and we'll work out the last of the logistics."

He lead her through to the end of the first short hallway.

"Here we have the kitchen and the dining room. Down this hallway to the left we have the office," he said, stepping into the first room. "If you were to continue to the end you'd eventually come to the library, the sunroom and the second of the guest bedrooms."

"Excuse me," she interrupted, "but how many people actually live here?"

"Oh just the one, my dear," said Mr. Callahan kindly. "Now if you'll please just sign this confidentiality agreement and nondisclosure form, I'll retrieve the patient file for you."

Katie quickly scribbled down her signature, eager to read up on her mysterious new ward. Satisfied with the documents, Mr. Callahan slid over the file folder. She scanned rapidly through the notes.

The patient had apparently been involved in a Quidditch 'accident': he had been the target of a particularly nasty curse that no one had ever seen before. It seemed that all his tissues had fused together; bone melding into muscle grading into skin with little distinction between each layer due to their blending. Currently he was incapable of walking, but clearly everyone was hoping that he would convalesce to a point where he could play again.

She felt herself growing more embittered with each passing second. Frowning, she rifled back through the pages.

"Mr. Callahan," she said," there seems to be no name on this case file."

"Quite right, my dear," he laughed. "We wouldn't want to have blown all this secrecy over something so trivial."

Katie was growing more irritated.

"Mr. Callahan, who is it _exactly_ who I'm going to be healing."

"Why, Mr. Wood, my dear. Oliver Wood."

* * *

><p>AN: _Technically_, Oliver appears here. Fear not, the next chapter with actual Oliver will appear momentarily. You also may have noticed I gave up on the chapter titles so I'll now just post the song lyrics instead. Comments and constructive criticism are appreciated!


	4. Chapter Four

The ingenious Ms. Rowling owns Harry Potter. I claim only the plot.

**_Time to go down in flames and I'm taking you  
>Closer to the edge<br>No, I'm no saying I'm sorry_**

**_~30 Seconds to Mars_**

* * *

><p>"Ms. Bell, please come back!"<p>

Katie snorted as Mr. Callahan struggled to keep pace with her. She was currently striding down the drive towards the edge of the manor, enraged when she'd discovered the anti-apparition wards and floo lockdown. Her anger only increased as she remembered that she would have finally have to take her Transfiguration re-certification as soon as she returned.

She scowled at the thought.

"Ms. Bell, surely we can come to some kind of agreement!"

She kept walking.

"Ms. Bell, at the very least please take a look—all the other healers have simply abandoned him!"

At that, she froze. As much as she hated Oliver Wood before, her dislike managed to increase tenfold in that moment. Because if she walked away, she be breaking the one promise she'd ever made to herself when she became a healer.

"Damn you, Wood," she whispered. Straightening her shoulders, she turned and marched past a fluster Mr. Callahan back into the house.

"He's the first door at the top of the stairs!" he shouted. "I'll leave you to it then, my dear!"

Huffing up the stairs, Katie paused to collect herself at the door. Taking a deep breath, she strode into the room.

Her eyes widened in shock as they settled on the figure lying in the bed.

She took in his pale skin, tinged gray from his prolonged suffering. She observed the thinness of his once bulky frame. She noticed the dark, under-eye circles that came from too many sleepless nights filled with nightmares.

She admitted that despite his illness, Oliver Wood was still as handsome as ever.

Then she saw his eyes meet hers.

"Hullo," he said. "How are you?"

Katie stood rooted to the spot. _After so many years, _she thought,_ he's just going to say "Hullo" and pretend everything is just bleeding peachy? That complete—"_

"I'm Oliver Wood…though I'd wager you already know that. It's so nice to finally meet you, Healer—?"

Katie felt her rage boil to the surface.

"You are a right prat, you know that? I spent _years_ putting up with your fanatical Quidditch practices, _hours_ memorizing your ridiculous playbook—I even dragged you out of the damn showers after we lost to Hufflepuff!—and once you leave you can't even write to me? It's no surprise you don't recognize me! And what it with that "I'm the great Oliver Wood and everybody knows me" bullshit? You sound like a complete wanker!"

He stared openmouthed at her for a moment before realization—and some fear, she noted with satisfaction—crept into his eyes.

"_Bell?_ Katie Bell?"

"You better fucking believe it, Wood."

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Oliver eyed her warily.

"Look, Bell. I get that you're a wee bit upset with me but—"

"A wee bit! _A wee bit?_ Wood, I get a _wee bit_ upset about my post getting lost or my shoes coming untied or waking up early in the morning. I get a _wee bit_ upset about spilling tea on my robes or running out of ink or burning my toast. But when my supposed _friend_ stops writing, completely abandons me and starts acting like he's so much loftier than the rest of us mere mortals, I don't think a _wee bit upset_ quite covers it—but so bloody furious I might hex your bits off might come close."

Throughout her tirade, Oliver's face grew darker and darker as his own anger escalated.

"Bell, I _get_ that you're all hacked off at me, but now isn't really the best time to hash this all out. The fact remains that I need a good healer and, given the state of your feelings concerning me, I'm not sure that you're the one who can help m—"

"Wood," Katie cut him off, her eyes blazing, "let's be clear about one thing, shall we? However questionable it may be that I'm the best _person _for this job, I am the best damn _healer_ that will _ever_ walk through your door."

She took a breath to steady herself before continuing.

"I may want to strangle you, but I can assure you that, while on the clock, I will be nothing but the consummate professional."

Oliver studied her face for a moment, doubting her sincerity, before finally nodding solemly.

"It seems I have no choice but to agree."

"Glancing out the window, Katie saw that night was threatening to envelop the house. She sighed before turning to the door.

"Good night, Wood. I'll see you bright and early tomorrow morning."

* * *

><p>AN: Short but I thought it turned out alright. I'd love to hear your thoughts on the characters. Anyway, I'll try to post soon: comments and constructive criticism is appreciated!


	5. Chapter Five

The ingenious Ms. Rowling owns Harry Potter. I claim only the plot.

**_What I wanted most, what I wanted most, what I wanted most  
>Was to get myself all figured out<br>And what I figured out, what I figured out, what I figured out  
>Was that I needed more time to figure you out<em>**

**_~Tegan and Sara_**

* * *

><p>"For Merlin's sake, let me see it!"<p>

"No."

"Wood, I can't diagnose your problem _if I can't bloody see it_."

"_No._"

"Wood, I swear to Merlin—"

"Bell? Do me a favor and _back the hell off._"

"Wood, I'm a fucking healer!" she shrieked, gesturing to the bone and wand logo on her robes. "This is what I do!"

"Bell, I'm exhausted. I haven't slept in ages and I _finally_ feel like I might be dozing off, so take the hint and go away."

"Let me look at your leg…"

"How many times do I have to say no?"

"…or I'll transfigure something."

He blanched.

"_You wouldn't."_

"Do you really want to test that? Fine, how about I turn your pillow into a—"

"Alright!" he yelled, yanking away the sheets.

Katie bent to examine his leg more closely. Though she had, of course, read and re-read Oliver's file, nothing could have prepared her for the real thing.

His leg, from just above his knee to his ankle, had turned a ghastly purplish-blue. The skin was cratered and pocked, as if it had suddenly caved in at some points. His leg had shriveled in on itself, withering like a raisin. His calf had clearly taken the brunt of the curse, but even places along his shin bone had sunken in. It looked both grotesque and incredibly painful. She couldn't help her shudder.

"So how long has it been since you've slept properly?"

He thought for a moment.

"Probably since the accident," he mused. "And that was—"

"Nearly two weeks ago!"

"Yeah, I guess. It's probably the combination of the pain and the nightmares that's doing it."

"Wait, you mean nobody gave you anything?" she demanded.

"Well…no."

Katie gawked at him.

"Were your other healers bloody amateurs? Merlin, that's a rookie mistake! Focusing on the cause and forgetting to treat the symptoms…"

She continued her grumbling as she rummaged through her healer's kit. After a moment of searching she pulled out a small pewter cauldron, a tripod stand and several ingredients. Muttering a quick "Incendio!" she began organizing her tools.

"What are you doing?" he asked apprehensively.

"I'm cutting up the Valerian roots to add to my infusion of asphodel."

"What for?"

"I'm making you a Dreamless Sleep Draught."

"Oh…don't you need a book for that?"

"Wood, I could brew this potion in my sleep. Unless it's on the level of the Draught of the Living Death, most sleeping potions are actually rather simple."

"I just, ah, thought it might be, um, helpful to, to…reference! Yes, reference."

"Wood, I got on 'O' on my Potions N.E.W.T., so you can calm the hell down."

"Such a charmer, Bell."

"Yep, I got on 'O' on that one too."

Oliver couldn't help but gape at her.

"Are you having me on?"

"Yes, Wood, you caught me. I've singlehandedly managed to fool the whole medical licensing board and the entire staff at St. Mungo's _solely_ for the purpose of pulling a fast one on you."

"Jesus, I was just asking," he groused. After a pause he added, "I just always thought you'd end up playing Quidditch."

She stiffened, her body locking itself down. She kept her back to him, not sure she would be able to restrain herself from cursing him if she actually saw his face.

"Couldn't handle the stress," she bit out.

"Ah, I see how it is. You were just too bloody terrified to face me on the pitch," he teased. "Can't say that I blame you."

A heavy silence fell between them. The kind where you know that the air is filling with vicious, invisible thoughts that cause the hairs on your neck to prickle and dread to slither down your spine. Oliver began to feel uneasy, sensing the silent fury that was rolling off her shoulders. But for the life of him he just couldn't understand _why._

"Wood, you are an inconsequential bastard who could not be bothered by poor, pathetic me regardless of the circumstances. As such, you are no longer privy to my feelings or the inner workings of my mind. Your opinion on my insignificance has been well-established."

She kept her tone formal, putting distance between them, and felt at twisted pleasure as she watched the shock and hurt flit across his face.

"I need to retrieve another Valerian root from my stores. I shall be back momentarily."

Then, turning on her heel, she marched to the door.

As she hunted through her supplies, Katie felt her anger consume her, leaving a metallic taste on her tongue. She yanked a few jars from her spare kit before reaching for her mortar and pestle. Tipping in a few dragonfly thoraxes, she began to viciously grind them to a powder, imagining each one as Oliver Wood's head.

"Just who does he think he is?" she muttered to herself.

Yet she knew, much to annoyance, why she was now so enraged—though admitting it to herself was a monumental feat: Oliver Wood had changed, in every way imaginable.

And it bothered her.

He was no longer the awkward boy from her youth; he was an attractive, lusted-after athlete. He was no longer the modest young man from their Hogwarts years; he was an arrogant, Quidditch-playing prick. He was no longer the best friend from her childhood; he was a self-induced stranger. He was no longer the talented Keeper for Puddlemere United; he was a bed-ridden invalid.

He was her responsibility,

"So then why is it," she ranted, "that he can talk about my life with such cruel indifference when I now hold his own in my hands?"

And for that she still had no answer.

But she refused to let herself wonder for another second. Oliver Wood owed her an explanation and damned if she wasn't going to get it.

She strode back to his room and flung open the door. He jumped in surprise.

"Mother of Merlin, Bell! What the f—"

"Why did you stop writing to me?" she said abruptly.

* * *

><p>AN: I know it's been a while! I'm going off to college in a couple weeks so things are a bit hectic. I'll try to post more often but I won't make any promises. I _have_ finally laid out most of the plot so things should go faster from here. Comments and constructive criticism are greatly appreciated!


	6. Chapter Six

The ingenious Ms. Rowling owns Harry Potter. I claim only the plot.

**_No you don't know what it's like  
>When nothing feels alright<br>You don't know what it's like to be like me_**

**_~Simple Plan_**

* * *

><p>"<em>Why did you stop writing to me?" she said abruptly.<em>

Oliver looked taken aback, utterly shocked by her question.

"_What?_"

"You heard me. I want to know why you stopped owling me."

"Well, we just…we just…grew apart that's all."

"Rubbish. We both sailed through school with minimum effort. We'd both read _Quidditch Through the Ages _so often we could quote whole passages. We both used McGonagall's fondness to our advantage. We both loved to fly around the pitch for fun—we were practically the same person!"

"Which was the entire bloody problem!" he yelled.

"What are you trying to say, Wood?"

"I'm saying that I was ashamed!" he shouted. When he spoke again he was quieter, fatigue creeping into his voice. "I was so ashamed of myself."

"About _what?_"

"I dunno. Everything, I guess. I was—am—so single-minded. I spent every minute of my time playing Quidditch and when I wasn't practicing I was reading old plays and writing new ones. I let myself become consumed by a dream that would statistically never, ever come true. But I believed that because it was _me,_ that because _I_ wanted it, that it would invariably happen. A sure thing.

"When I signed on to the reserves, I assumed it was just a pretense. For the sake of appearances and out of respect to the old Keeper, McGowan. Imagine my surprise when the season started and it was McGowan they sent onto the field. It hadn't hit me until then.

"I, Oliver Wood, was officially a benchwarmer.

"I was devastated. I had worked my arse off, disregarded my schoolwork and rejected all other possibilities and for what? A chance to sit on the sidelines? The one constant in my life had come crashing down around me as my aspirations crumbled to dust.

"And then there was you. Katie Bell. You were always a decent student, though," he added with a half-smile, "clearly a damn sight better than I'd ever imagined. You worked well with others and remained modest about your abilities—back then at least.

And you were an amazing Quidditch player. There'd been talk about you buzzing through the league since the end of your sixth year. I heard rumors the Harpies were going to recruit you and set you up directly as a starting chaser.

"I was so jealous. And angry. Though at you or myself I wasn't quite sure. I wanted to know why my dedication to the game wasn't enough but yours was. I wanted to know what made me so unworthy…

"I couldn't bear to read your letters. They were so animated, vibrating with energy. I knew mine had to be dull in comparison. So I wrote fewer and fewer letters until they stopped altogether. Mostly because I needed to distance myself from you, but partly because, in some sick, perverse way, I hoped that my silence might cause you at least a _fraction_ of the pain I was experiencing…

"Course, then the war broke out and matches were deemed too dangerous to be held. Then there was the fighting…"

He trailed off, lost in thought, no doubt recounting the horrors he'd witnessed in those years. Remembering himself and where he was, he continued.

"I saw you, you know. That night in the Room of Requirement. You seemed different. Not _hesitant_ exactly, but _cautious._ So unlike the Katie I'd known who'd rush headlong into everything. You seemed…grown up. But then didn't we all seem older that night? Old enough to die at the very least…

"After that, McGowan retired and I finally got my shot. Awful as it sounds, I didn't think about you at all after that."

He paused for a moment to stare out the window. Though his expression revealed his unease at his confession, she saw a small amount of relief settling over him. _It was a step, _she thought, _towards reconciliation._

He turned to her then.

"So why didn't you play? Quidditch that is."

"You _really_ don't know?

"Obviously not, Bell," he answered impatiently.

With shaking fingers, she began to roll back the right sleeve of her robe.

"What are you—"

She held up a finger, signaling him to remain quiet. She continued rolling up her sleeve until it reached her shoulder, leaving her arm bare to his gaze.

The skin was spiderwebbed with faint white scars as if it had shattered into a thousand delicate shards and then pieced back together again. It had a slight sheen that made it as if it were new and just barely healed. Her arm was also noticeably thin due to the little padding between skin and bone.

"I don't play Quidditch, Wood, because I _can't_," she whispered.

"Merlin, Katie! What the hell happened?"

"The first time—"

"_The first time?_ What do you m—"

"Wood," she said sharply. "_Please._"

He fell silent. Sighing , she began again.

"The first time I was cursed was in my seventh year. Someone imperiused me when I walked into the lavatory of the Three Broomsticks. I didn't see who cast it. All I remember is feeling blissfully happy and completely weightless. It was almost like the feeling I'd get when I was flying. Only there was this niggling doubt in the back of my mind…

"I was ordered to carry a package back to the castle. I did so immediately, eager to oblige. There was a strong wind when I began walking back. It must have loosened the wrappings and, through a hole in my glove, my skin came into contact with the necklace inside the paper…

"The healers said I was incredibly lucky. The curse was designed to rapidly age the body's inner cells until eventually death occurred. Just that pinprick of skin meant much of the muscle tissue in my arm was lost and the aftershocks spread through my system. I was in a coma for six months…

"They managed to repair most of the muscle, but they warned me the sinews were tenuous at best. They needed to strengthen over time and it would remain incredibly sensitive to magical energy for quite a while.

"When Yaxley cursed me the second time, it was still just under a year. Perhaps if I'd known what spell he'd used, things would have ended differently. Instead the healer told me that while they had saved the limb, the damage to my muscle tissue was irreversible. What little there is all I have left. I can't gain any new tissue or repair the old. While everyday activities are usually feasible, I will never play Quidditch again."

"Jesus, Katie. Why didn't you tell me?"

"I did. Well, George and Angelina did. They said that the letters were sent back unopened."

Oliver paled and looked as if he were going to be sick.

"Oh Merlin, I thought…I just assumed…"

"It's alright, Wood—"

"No it's bloody well not alright! I'll fucking murder Yaxley—"

"Thrown in Azkaban. Dementor's kiss. Saw it myself. Killed by another inmate a few months later. Pretty gruesome stuff."

"You could have _died_, Katie. You could have died thinking I was a pompous prick who didn't care enough about his best friend to tell her that he almost ruined their entire friendship because he felt inadequate and insecure!"

"It's in the past, Wood. We can't change any of it, we can only move forward. Besides," she said, her lips quirking into a smile, "In some sick, perverse way I hoped my story might make you feel a tiny bit guilty. I wanted _some_ kind of retribution."

Oliver scowled as she threw his words back at him.

"Alright, Wood. I think we've done enough emotional unloading for one day. Now drink these."

She held out two goblets. The first was filled with a dark purple liquid that swirled languidly around the glass. The second was gunmetal gray and vaguely resembled wet cement.

"What are they?"

"This first one is the Dreamless Sleep Draught I mentioned earlier. This one here is a Girding Potion. It'll help with the pain."

But Oliver shook his head.

"I refuse to take a pain potion."

"C'mon, Wood. It won't make you any less macho…I already know for a fact you're a pansy."

"Bell," he said through gritted teeth, "you'll have to try and force it down my throat because there's _no way_ I'm drinking it."

"And why the hell not?"

"Because ever since they gave me one at St. Mungo's a few weeks ago, my head's felt funny."

Katie frowned.

"That's not a side effect of a pain potion."

"Say what you like, Bell. I'm telling you that's what happened."

"Merlin, Wood, why didn't you mention this before now? Alright, could you be more specific?"

"Well, obviously I've been thinking a lot about the accident. But every time I do, things go fuzzy. I can see myself on the broom and then I take the hit. I turn toward the direction of the spell and just before I see the spectators, the scene fades."

"Hmm, that does seem a bit odd but you _did_ fall unconscious shortly after you were cursed. It's only natural that your memories come to a stop—"

"It's not like that!" he answered angrily. "It's not like things cut off or blur as I begin to fall. It's like, like this haziness rolls in and everything begins to dissipate—"

"A haziness?" she interrupted. "Like a fog?"

"I don't know, I mean, I _suppose_ that maybe—"

"Wood," she said sharply, her voice rising. "Was it a fog?"

"Yes! It seemed like a fog!"

It was now Katie's turn to pale as she began mumbling under her breath.

"…run some tests…couldn't possibly…but there's no other explanation…"

"Bell," he growled, "would you mind telling me what the hell's going on?"

She took a deep breath.

"I think your memory has been tampered with."

* * *

><p>AN: What do you think? Two posts in one night with more stuff in the works. I've also got another Neville/Luna oneshot idea I've been playing with so be on the lookout for that as well as new posts. Comments and constructive criticism are greatly appreciated!


	7. Chapter Seven

The ingenious Ms. Rowling owns Harry Potter. I claim only the plot.

**_My body is a cage  
>That keeps me from dancing with the one I love<br>But my mind holds the key_**

**_~Arcade Fire_**

* * *

><p>Katie awoke to a tapping at her window.<p>

Stumbling from the bed, she quickly unlatched the lock and threw the panes open. As soon as she stepped back an owl swooped through the parted curtains. Arcing gracefully around the room, it dropped a letter into her outstretched hands before zooming back outside.

When she looked down at the envelope her heart sank.

The heavy parchment and embossed script warned her that this was no friendly missive. She traced her fingers over the gilded _Ms. Katherine Bell_ that adorned the front—her full name another ill-fated omen about the contents of the letter. Pushing aside her rising dread, she broke open the seal to reveal two letters tucked inside. Pulling out the one emblazoned with the same golden cursive as the envelope, she began to read.

_Ms. Katherine Bell,_

_You are cordially invited to attend the Campaign Gala this coming Saturday for the esteemed Chief of Medicine Wilton Meriwether in honor of his candidacy for Minister for Magic. This envelope doubles as your Portkey and will be activated promptly at seven o'clock. _

_Formal attire required, donations welcomed. _

As she glanced over the invitation, her mouth fell open in shock. She wracked her brain, trying to find some missed mention of Chief Meriwether's stunning news. Try as she might she could recall no such instance. Remembering the second parchment, she hastily unfolded it to find the Chief's tidy handwriting.

_Healer Bell,_

_Try not to be too surprised. My running for Minister will come as a surprise to you all, as I had intended. I didn't want anyone to accuse me of neglecting my medicine while becoming absorbed in an overzealous campaign. Be that as it may, this Saturday's event will mark my first major fundraiser and public appearance since the announcement of my candidacy. As one of my best healers, I would appreciate your support and show of solidarity at the gala._

_Your updates concerning Mr. Wood's health indicate that he is making amazing progress. The reports allowed me to hope that you both might attend. Yes, I shall warn you that I have also invited Mr. Wood to the event on Saturday. This is, of course, entirely up to your discretion. I hope to see you both there._

_And Bell? Your healer robes do __**not**__ count as formal attire._

_Kindest regards,_

_Chief Meriwether_

She frowned as she finished the letter. Oliver would jump at the chance to leave the house and she wasn't sure she could put up with his whining if she refused. Thinking back on the last few months, however, she couldn't deny his incredible improvement…

"I'm not drinking that."

"Wood, take the damn potion."

"Bell, I'm telling you—"

"Wood, we've been _over_ this. You have been subject to a memory charm. The side effects of pain potions do not include memory loss. Whoever obliviated you must have done so right before you were administered your pain potion when you got to Mungo's."

"I think you're just in love with this little conspiracy theory of yours, Bell."

Katie huffed in frustration.

"Wood, that fogginess covered a particularly specific area of your memory. Don't you find that odd? That you remember falling off your broom and taking your pain potion but the few minutes in between are missing? I read the file notes from that night: you were stopped by a Mediwizard on the sidelines before you hit the ground. You were entirely lucid when they brought you in. There is no mention of the unconsciousness you're talking about.

"Someone doesn't want you to remember what you saw when you turned to face the crowd, Wood."

Oliver paled.

"Mother of Merlin…"

"My sentiments exactly."

"That's…this…this is all just so insane…Fucking hell. Can you fix it?"

Katie hesitated. A small part of her, the part of her that longed desperately to repair a friendship with one of the few people untainted by her accident, wanted to say yes. The greater, realistic healer part, however, would not allow for such an answer.

"I'm not sure," she hedged. "Memory charms are tricky."

"What do you mean? Can't you just wave your wand and undo it with the countercharm?"

"It's not that simple," she sighed. "It's possible to erase a memory permanently, but there's no precision to it—the spell usually wipes the _entire_ memory, not just one. If one concentrates on a single memory, however, it is usually only repressed. It's still buried in the mind but hidden by the charm. Given the extreme exactness of your loss, I'd say it's the latter. You should also know that the only ones with that level of experience with memory charms are ministry officials and healers."

"Jesus," he muttered. "That makes me feel loads better."

After a moment, he repeated himself.

"Can you fix it?"

"Breaking a memory charm is difficult, Wood, and often unpleasant. If you're lucky and the spell is weak, something might jog your memory. If you're not…"

"If I'm not?"

"Then the only _semi-effective_ way to try and retrieve them is through torture. Since people tend to go _out_ of their minds with intense pain, it loosens up memories. The real trouble is knowing when to pull back before the whole mind unravels.

"And it gets worse. In studies, a key piece to the puzzle is _intention_. The caster can't be inflicting pain for the sake of pain—they need to focus on memory retrieval."

Oliver studied her, his eyes searching her face for answers she wished she had.

"Let's do it then."

"Not happening, Wood. _Ever._ Even I don't hate you that much."

"Please?"

"Oliver," she said, panic edging into her voice, "I'm not qualified to do this. We should really ask someone else, like Chief Meriwether or—"

"But Katie, I trust _you._ You of all people should know how terrifying it is to have someone manipulating her thoughts. I don't want a stranger, Katie, I want you."

It stung that he would bring her accident up. Despite all their arguments and insults, she had found she enjoyed living with him because he had never treated her like _that girl_. Until now.

Yet she knew this wasn't entirely true. Oliver Wood may be a self-centered git at times but he never set out to hurt people. Not purposefully, not intentionally. Maybe just this once, someone was seeing her scars as a symbol of strength, not weakness. From the moment she arrived, he had been his normal, aggravating self. He hadn't seen her as some breakable figurine about to shatter at the slightest hint of struggle or mention of her accident.

She was on the verge of almost liking Oliver Wood. Not that he needed to know.

"Have it your way. Now, take the damn potion."

"But you just said—!"

"I was here for the whole thing, Wood."

"Then why would I take the bloody potion?"

"So I can fix your leg."

"That doesn't make any sense! You said I needed to be in pain for this to work! You're supposed to—"

"Dammit, Wood!" she swore. ""I think I've been doing this a day or two longer than you."

"Right. Sorry."

"As I said, I'm trying to fix your leg. If I'm going to torture you, I want you in the best possible physical shape so that you'll withstand the pain for a reasonable amount of time.

"Besides," she added, "I want to give you some time to really think about this, Wood. You need to understand that most people don't _survive._"

And for once, Oliver didn't dish out a snappy comeback or act as if his intellect had been insulted. Whatever else she might be, Katie Bell was a fantastic healer and even _she_ was admitting that there was a very real possibility that he might die.

And contrary to popular belief among Quidditch commentators, Oliver cared quite a bit about his own mortality.

"What's the plan, then?"

"Well, I wanted to use a weak Swelling Solution on it to enlarge the tissue fragments so that the other spells and potions can have an easier go of repairing things."

Oliver began to turn green as he watched her toss a handful of puffer fish eyes into her cauldron.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Once the solution had a few days to properly settle, she'd gone straight to work. Using a modified version of Episkey, she'd managed to realign the bone fragments. A quick spell and strengthening solution later and Oliver's bones were mostly healed.

Separating the underlying skin and muscle tissue had been far more difficult. By administering a Bruise Removal Paste, she had repaired most of the ruptured veins and arteries, although despite casting several stabilizing spells they still remained incredibly fragile. He was still on a daily combination of the paste, Strengthening Solution and Blood Replenishing Potion until she could find a more permanent treatment.

The real progress, however, was from the physical therapy. For several hours a day Katie put him through a strict regimen of Muggle exercises to regain his strength and balance. Though clearly a git about taking his potions, Oliver was nothing short of fanatical when it came to exercise. He asked dozens of questions to ensure his movements were correct. He always performed her allotted number of repetitions, though the pain had to be unimaginable. He never questioned her orders or her abilities.

Because Oliver Wood _finally_ trusted her.

He trusted that she would not mislead or harm or abandon him. And she was determined to believe in his recovery with a hope no one had garnered for her.

Yes, the physical therapy had done wonders.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Though nothing quite compared to his expression once he took his first steps since the accident.

It had happened only a few weeks ago. She remembered how he bit his tongue in concentration as he took that first wobbly step forward. In fact, he'd only managed a couple paces before he collapsed against the bed, but his entire face had lit up with an excited grin. He seemed thrilled by the simple act of movement, of his own kinesis. Had it been anyone else, she would have said it was adorable.

But this was Oliver Wood.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

No, she couldn't deny Oliver's progress.

_He'll be fine,_ she thought. _Just a few steps to a table and then he can sit down for the rest of the night. It'd do us both a world of good to get out for a bit._

Yet as her eyes wandered back over the words "formal attire," she couldn't suppress her groan.

Because if there was one thing Katie Bell hated more than Transfiguration, it was shopping.

* * *

><p>AN: So I apologize for the delay! I made the move down to college this week and between packing and orientation things have been incredibly hectic. Classes start on Tuesday so I expect things will continue to be very sporadic, however I DO know the direction I'm headed with this, so I will update eventually. Also: I am in the middle of another Neville/Luna oneshot as promised (which is seriously halfway done), so fingers crossed that will also be posted in the near future!

All reviews and constructive criticisms are appreciated!


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